


Photograph

by SpicedGold



Series: Itachi/Shisui One-Shot Collection [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 01:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10979151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicedGold/pseuds/SpicedGold
Summary: The power of the Sharingan lies in its ability to copy anything.But some things Itachi doesn't want to remember





	Photograph

**Author's Note:**

> Short drabble about the Sharingan and its bearing on Itachi's life and memories.
> 
> Mild angst and tragedy, with non-graphic mentions of a male/male relationship.

The power of the Sharingan lies in its ability to copy any technique.

The movements, motions, were burned into the user’s mind, easy to see, easy to recall, easy to replicate. Like a photograph in motion, a thousand tiny little films running through the user’s mind, every memory at their disposal for battle.

And sometimes, for things outside of battle.

The first thing Itachi saw with those Sharingan eyes was his brother’s face, smiling happily at him, unaware of the turmoil that had led to this moment. And Itachi would remember that forever, that moment of peace, just him and baby Sasuke. It was a good start to a devastating ability, a brief reminder that just because the world was burned into your mind didn’t mean the memories had to hurt.

He remembered fighting the Root with Shisui, on what was supposed to be a training exercise; the whole world had been so different. Easier to see. He had learnt a lot in that brief fight, about himself, about what techniques his opponents would use and how to disarm them. He had learnt that the Sharingan was a part of him, so easy for him to use and understand. It was meant to be with him, he was supposed to carry this power his whole life. It felt so natural, even as inexperienced as he was.

There was a lot he needed to remember. As time wore on, his strength improved, and he used the Eyes during training battles with Shisui. He idolized the older boy, strove to surpass him, or even just be as good as him, and being able to read, remember, replicate every move of his was one step closer to being the best. He watched Shisui move, learnt every curve and line of his body, how the movements melded together to make Shisui near invincible.

As his teenage years approached, he spent some nights running through those battles, recalling every detail in his mind, studying them, eyes dark but mind swirling red. He lay in bed with thoughts of Shisui churning through his mind, every one of them crisp and clear and impossible to forget.

The first night they spent together felt unreal from the start. On his back, out of breath, pupils blown wide, Itachi had activated his blood line limit without thinking, the sight alerting Shisui into stopping what he was doing, both of them half undressed, and asking with the first trace of hesitancy Itachi had seen from him, “Are you alright?”

“I want to remember this.” Itachi replied with a breathless whisper, body far too occupied with other things to form many coherent, audible thoughts.

Shisui’s body lay heavy against his, heavy but welcome, heat burning between them. Itachi remembered most of it; there were times when he’d had to close his eyes, overcome with all the sensations running through him, but he remembered what he needed to, and often looked back on that night, recalling the heady darkness of Shisui’s eyes, the way his jaw slackened slightly when he pushed inside, the way his hair fell wildly, some of it sticking to skin damp with sweat.

Those blissful memories intertwined with more violent ones. Missions, with death and bloodshed, gore he wished he could un-see. When it was too much, when there was too much blood clouding his memories, he turned to Shisui with eyes of red, and remembered, remembered, another night together.

Shisui’s whispers of love and praise replaced the sound of agonised screams on the battlefield.

Shisui’s soft touches and pale skin replaced bruises from fights.

Shisui’s presence drowned out the endless supply of death, and when the world clouded over with ecstasy and a delicious release, Itachi liked to believe it would block out another red-tinged memory. It never did, it never could, but it still gave him something to think about when the air around him was clogged with blood and his team was recovering enough to make the journey home.

And so the Sharingan served two roles in his life – to document the horrors that came with being a loyal Leaf Shinobi, and to capture and keep those precious moments with Shisui that Itachi thought would last forever.

But nothing lasts forever. Certainly nothing good.

When Shisui stood before him, one eye gone and blood running down his face, and explained his intentions, Itachi’s heart fell. The world came to a nauseating halt, the bliss of several years evaporating in front of him.

_Shisui, I can’t do this alone._

“You’re the only one I can trust.”

_Please don’t leave me. I can’t walk this path without you._

“This is the end for me.”

_Then it’s the end for me too._

He couldn’t protest, because this was what Shisui believed to be the right thing to do, and Itachi would never question it. But he didn’t want this day to stay with him. He didn’t want it to sear into his eyes, to brand its way into his subconscious. He wanted it to end. He wanted it to go away.

So when Shisui took a step back – “Don’t try to stop me, Itachi.” – and Itachi couldn’t help it, he reached forward, trying _so hard_ to bring him back, the tears falling after Shisui’s blood-drenched face, his eyes were black.

They were black because he didn’t want to remember this. He didn’t want that to be the last memory he had of Shisui. He didn’t want to see him through eyes clouded in tears, with a heart torn in half, feeling like he was drowning under the weight of everything he had to do.

Because he already had the picture he wanted, he already had the photograph in his mind, of Shisui’s fingers tenderly touching his face, looking down at him in the dim light, smiling so peacefully, so beautifully, only last night. _Last night_ , and it felt so far away.

“No Sharingan this time?” Shisui had asked, brushing hair from Itachi’s face.

Itachi had looked back at him, into the endless depths of Shisui’s dark eyes, so comforting, so familiar, and he already had it in his mind. He didn’t need his Eyes to see this moment. “I don’t need to,” he had whispered back, hands settled on Shisui’s bare skin. “There will always be the next time.”


End file.
